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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26127205">Komorebi</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nats_zoo/pseuds/nats_zoo'>nats_zoo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character Tsukishima Kei, Pining, Slow Burn, Tsukishima Kei is Bad at Feelings, or at least an attempt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:00:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26127205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nats_zoo/pseuds/nats_zoo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima dislikes the amount of parallels there are with you and Hinata. He dislikes the way you're so energetic and exuberant when you want to be, and the way you can get along so well with people. He dislikes the way that people are naturally drawn to you, and the way you're so willing to put time into your dumb gifts and snacks and treats for a team of boys you barely know.<br/><br/>But Tsukishima does not dislike <i>you.</i> And he supposes that's part of the problem.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tsukishima Kei/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>244</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>okay hi !!! i took a bit of a break from writing but now i'm back and ready to go again, with a multi-part series!!! i'm a bit excited for this, seeing how i've never really done a long, drawn-out multi-part series like this before, so i'm hyped to see how it's gonna go.<br/>i've been working on this concept for a while, and while i know it might not be the greatest idea to start writing when not EVERYTHING in this series is very clear to me, i have good enough of an idea to start working on this and i really wanted to try my best to get the first part out as soon as possible.<br/>so here it is!!! i really hope you guys enjoy it and are invested enough to stick around for the remainder of this series. please feel free to leave any comments about it, things you noticed/liked/disliked, all that good stuff!!<br/>thank you all so much for your support, and happy reading !! &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tsukishima Kei walks into the gym, and wonders what he did to deserve this. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a figure standing next to Hinata Shouyou, resident wild child of the Karasuno boys’ volleyball team, who seems to be as exuberant as the redhead. Tsukishima heaves out a sigh, which his childhood friend notices from beside him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You alright?” Yamaguchi asks, eyebrow cocked in concern. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The blonde blinks and looks straight ahead. “Just fine.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe the morning was a particularly rough one, or maybe his general disliking for people just really kicked in at that particular moment. But the sight of yet another person deciding to barge into morning practice loudly with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hinata,</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all people, makes his cool demeanor slip into one of annoyance. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who’s that?” Yamaguchi voices the question that the blonde had been absent-mindedly asking himself, and the both of them watch from a distance as Hinata and his unidentified friend chat exuberantly near the bench. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t know,” Tsukishima responds, and he pointedly veers away from the duo and into the locker room without another word. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>By the time he’s changed and ready to start practice, the unknown person is gone. A feeling of thankfulness overwhelms him but it’s (unfortunately) coupled with distant curiosity. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tsukishima Kei sighs, takes a sip from his water bottle, and forces the flow of quiet questions in his mind to quiet down as he steps onto the court. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>——</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He should’ve known that it’s not easy to get rid of anyone similar to Hinata. They’re too loud to avoid, too exuberant to turn away from, too </span>
  <em>
    <span>bright</span>
  </em>
  <span> to shield your eyes from.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You are no exception. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He learns your name the next day, when you’re once again in the gym—this time, in after-school practice rather than in the morning. You clutch onto a paper bag, large and heavy on your shoulder and forcing you to lean your body to the other side to avoid toppling under the weight of the bag. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You’re standing with Hinata yet again, but this time there are other people with you. Nishinoya and Tanaka, girl-crazy idiots that they are, listen intently to every word you spew out as answers to their many questions. Yachi stands near you as well, a pleasant smile on her face as she watches you interact with the boys swimmingly, and Ennoshita seems to have taken a subtle interest in the conversation occurring. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tsukishima scoffs, about to make some biting remark about your annoying presence to Yamaguchi before he realizes that Yamaguchi is strangely absent from beside him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He turns to his side. Blinks. Looks back up at the steadily forming crowd around you. Spots his five-foot-ten friend smiling and laughing at whatever garbage is coming out of your mouth. Growls in annoyance before submitting to peer pressure and slowly (with definite uninterest) stalking in your direction. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He catches the topic of conversation now, right as you begin to fiddle with the plentiful contents of your bag. “I brought some stuff,” you speak, and Tsukishima ignores how pleasant your voice sounds to him. “Just a few things I baked, and I wanted to give some to you guys because Shouyou tells me a lot about how hard you all work.” You’re smiling—not that you haven’t been smiling the whole time, but as the words leave your mouth, your lips seem to lift higher up on your face to match the exuberant tone of voice you’ve adopted. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tsukishima watches you pull out, one of many, beige bakery boxes, tan and smooth and weighty, by the look of how you have to use both hands to support it. Nishinoya and Tanaka </span>
  <em>
    <span>“ooooo”</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the sight of the mundane box, and Tsukishima wonders if neither of them are occupying the single braincell they share. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You lift up the lid of the box. The variety of pastries inside is almost worrying, and Tsukishima faintly wonders how much free time and resources you must have to make so much food just for a ragtag group of volleyball boys. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The boys explode with calls of </span>
  <em>
    <span>“thank you, [Y/N]!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>“you’re so cool!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>“can we keep her?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> though the last one is, yet again, the sole product of a certain pair of second years. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tsukishima realizes that he now knows your name, your </span>
  <em>
    <span>first</span>
  </em>
  <span> name, [Y/N]. He wonders if, by chance, you’re not just a friend of Hinata’s but </span>
  <em>
    <span>related </span>
  </em>
  <span>to him, but brushes off his irrelevant curiosity yet again as you begin to speak. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s no nuts in any of these, so if you have allergies then no need to worry! But there </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> milk and eggs and stuff, so if you’re vegan then I’m sorry about that…” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For the next few minutes, you ramble on about your baking process and Tsukishima rolls his eyes. It’s a shocker that the third years haven’t kicked you out yet, and he wonders if he can do that himself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to go now—”</span>
  <em>
    <span> finally,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tsukishima thinks, “—but I hope you guys enjoy everything! If there’s leftovers, you can keep them, and if you want more of something then just tell me! I have a lot of time on my hands so I’m always making stuff.” You leave the paper bag on the floor near the benches, replacing the original location of the box in your hands, and smiling at the team once more with a polite bow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I hope you guys enjoy. Have a great day!” Tsukishima wants to gag at your stupidly-sweet behavior, and the feeling only intensifies as Hinata offers to walk you out—</span>
  <em>
    <span>the door is twenty feet away, what’s the point of walking her there?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The team chatters exuberantly about the new face they met that afternoon, and Tsukishima would do anything to go deaf right in that moment. He sighs, looks at the boxes you left for the team, and rolls his eyes. While the rest of his teammates seem to be excited about this new addition to their team (including Yamaguchi, who he wants to call a traitor but knows he really can’t since he’s always been a bit more socially-inclined than Tsukishima), he can’t help but hope that your presence doesn’t become a daily thing. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hoping doesn't do much for him, though. Maybe he should’ve figured that out beforehand.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi hi hi!!! sorry for taking so long with this chapter! school's starting up soon and there's a lot to get done before i start... it's a been a very stressful week :/</p>
<p>but!! nevertheless!! i got a chapter done!! i'm happy to see that a lot of people are enjoying this already and i hope you're still finding it interesting hahahah. i know it might still be a little slow in pace right now, but it's slowly picking up already!! </p>
<p>also i just wanna clarify--i know these chapters have been pretty short, but that's how i intend it to be!! it's meant to be a sort of collection of scenes that show how the relationships between characters progresses n stuff like that !! so they'll be pretty short, but i think the speed of each update will (HOPEFULLY) pick up in a bit once i get everything together for school and have some free time.</p>
<p>anyways!! thank you for all the support!! and i hope you enjoy &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Against Tsukishima’s wordless wishes, you become an annoying constant in his day-to-day life. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>While you don’t show up to every practice that the volleyball team has, you make a valiant effort to make an appearance at as many practices possible. You never stay for long, twenty minutes at most, and make sure to stay out of everyone’s way if need be. (Though, Tsukishima would argue that that’s still not enough and it’d be best for you to stay out of the gym entirely.) </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On the days that you don’t come to practice, in the morning or afternoon, Tsukishima still catches glimpses of you throughout his day despite not being in the same class as you. You’re friends with Hinata—he knows this already—and it seems that you two are loud enough to catch his eye whenever he walks in the hallway. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He makes it a subconscious habit to scoff under his breath and roll his eyes at the sight of you interacting—you know, as </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span> do—and he doesn’t miss the knowing looks Yamaguchi sends him when he does so. Tsukishima wonders what Yamaguchi knows that he doesn’t know, himself. There’s not much information that fits in that category, to be honest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not only do you bake, he learns, but you like making gifts in other forms. It’s annoying how persistent you are with giving these things out—friendship bracelets in painfully bright colors, little canvases of suspiciously similar-looking landscapes that you cover in glitter varnish to make it “prettier” (your words, not his), and even scarves—yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>plural</span>
  </em>
  <span>—that you’ve managed to knit neatly and hand out to multiple members of the team (not all of them, as that would be difficult to manage with the yarn that’s in stock at your local craft store and the amount of time that you have on your hands. But Tsukishima is slowly starting to wonder if you’re able to alter the concept of time in an attempt to make as many useless crafts as possible). </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He knows that you’re not directly bothering him—which is probably intentional, and influenced by Hinata mindlessly chattering about the tall middle blocker and telling you </span>
  <em>
    <span>all about</span>
  </em>
  <span> his emotionless disposition—but he still can’t help but be annoyed at all the attention you manage to grab from the team, during </span>
  <em>
    <span>practice,</span>
  </em>
  <span> no less. He doesn’t care about the sport, he assures himself, but he cares about maintaining </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> kind of order in an already order-less team of boys. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tsukishima finds that your presence lingers with all the gifts you decide to give out—he catches colorful bands around the wrists of many of his teammates, which couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> be yours, necklaces around some of the first years’ necks that have been tucked snugly into their uniforms, glittery earrings that Yachi and even </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kiyoko</span>
  </em>
  <span> have decided to wear with an odd sort of pride. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At the sight of a navy and orange chevron bracelet tied tightly around Yamaguchi’s wrist as they walk home, Tsukishima scoffs habitually. His friend glances up from beside him, brows furrowed in curiosity. Before the boy could ask anything himself, Tsukishima took the initiative to make a snarky comment. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re really wearing that dumb thing she made? Really?” He pauses to avert his eyes from Yamaguchi’s slowly growing smile of amusement, then, “She makes so many childish gifts all the time. It’s getting annoying.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yamaguchi hums, smile still persistent on his face. “Maybe you’re just upset that she hasn’t given </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything personal yet.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The blonde wants to scoff at that, but feels like he’s been doing too much of that so he rolls his eyes instead. “Yeah, sure. Very accurate, Yamaguchi.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m serious!” His friend responds, the knowing look in his expression returning. “Think about it. Everyone has gotten a gift except you. Maybe you’re just getting angry about that.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not a child.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, you’re fifteen. I think that’s still a child, technically.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut up, Yamaguchi.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, Tsukki.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The two walk in silence for a minute, which Tsukishima thoroughly enjoys until the quiet is once again breached by Yamaguchi’s comments. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” he starts, “she asked me what your favorite color is. I think she’s making you a scarf now.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tsukishima lets out a sigh of mild aggravation. “Great. Now I know to keep my trash can empty so it’ll fit in there.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yamaguchi returns his friend’s previous sigh, a tone of resignation hidden in the exhale. The rest of the walk was quiet, save for the loud music playing from Tsukishima’s headphones in an attempt to block out any other potential comments. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>———</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Within a week, Yamaguchi’s guess about your upcoming gift is proven correct. You catch them both right before they enter the gym for practice, shouting their names in glee as you sprint towards them, a sky blue bundle in your hands. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tsukishima forces himself to turn around and face you, seeing as Yamaguchi does so. The shorter boy greets you with a smile and a wave, while the blonde stubbornly remains silent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You look up, the upturn of your lips remaining even when faced with Tsukishima’s disdainful mien. You extend the object in your hand, tassels and all, and Tsukishima thinks, </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Oh, God. It really is a scarf.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I made this for you!” You exclaim, followed by a stupid giggle that tightens the strings in Tsukishima’s lungs for some reason he’d rather not get into. "It’s your favorite color— or, at least, according to Yamaguchi. I hope he wouldn’t lie to me…?” You send a playfully suspicious look at said boy, and he laughs along with you before your attention is drawn back to the still-silent blonde in front of you. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hasn’t made a move to take it yet, but you’re steadfast in your resolve and pester him again. “Here! You can take it. I used this super soft yarn for this, it was a bit more pricey, but I think it was worth it. My mom helped me pick it out. You know, I almost dropped a few stitches by accident, but I’m thankful it didn’t unravel completely! I think I would’ve cried if it did.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You ramble on and on about this stupid blue scarf for minutes and Tsukishima wonders why he hasn’t tuned out your voice yet. It rings steadily in his ears, and while he wants to compare it to the annoying chime of an American school bell, he can’t seem to make that connection without feeling as if it’s off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He interrupts you in the middle of a rant about stockinette stitches. “It’s spring,” his tone is dry and blunt, and he doesn’t look in your eyes as he speaks. “I don’t need this.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Your smile wavers. Tsukishima is the slightest bit shocked at that—at the falter in your ever-positive demeanor, but doesn’t say anything as you give a laugh (stiffer than before, he notes dizzily) and thrust the scarf at him yet again. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, it’s for the future! Never too early to start stocking up for winter, you know?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes finally flit up to meet yours, and for a moment he regrets it. The sun is high, and casts gold glitter in your irises that moves like shimmering fabric with each slight movement of your eyes. You blink up at him owlishly as you wait for a response, whether verbal or in action, and he’s snapped back to the present as soon as your brow furrows. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s stupid,” he says, but a hand hesitantly reaches out to take the scarf from you regardless. He hears Yamaguchi take in a sharp breath of air, and your expression falls completely. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Your eyes fall to the side, a little ways away where a lone white flower sits among a patch of grass. “Right. Sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tsukishima doesn’t find any pleasure in seeing your attitude change so quickly. He thinks it’s because he wasn’t expecting a change at all—at least, not in this way. You’re just like Hinata, he keeps telling himself, and Hinata doesn’t get upset over his comments, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He gets annoyed, which is what makes his reaction so funny in the first place. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Why aren’t you getting annoyed? Why aren’t you saying anything back?</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll see you later, Yamaguchi!” You walk off before he can say anything else. Yamaguchi gives you a hesitant wave as you turn around and leave, and only then is Tsukishima aware of the fact that you hadn’t bothered to say bye to him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Whatever,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he tells himself. Doesn’t matter that much. Practice starts soon, he should be getting dressed already. He relays this to Yamaguchi, who gives him a look that borders on concern before letting out a sigh and shaking his head at his blonde friend. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A voice in the back of Tsukishima’s head tells him to apologize the next time he sees you. His conscious mind argues that there’s nothing to apologize for, and he forgets about the entire conflict by the time practice begins. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>here's the third chapter!! i'm sorry for taking so long with it, school's started and it's been a bit hectic for me, but hopefully my updates will be a bit more consistent soon!! </p><p>hope you like it &lt;3</p><p>(this is unedited)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>With how often you and Hinata chat around him, Tsukishima starts to find the name “Hinata” sounding more and more foreign. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You don’t call your ginger friend “Hinata.” You call him “Shouyo,” the syllables slipping so smoothly and ethereally off your tongue that Tsukishima momentarily remains content with the sound of that name before reverting back to mildly annoyed apathy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pauses at that thought. Since when did he start using </span>
  <em>
    <span>“ethereal”</span>
  </em>
  <span> in anything other than his writing class? Tsukishima clears his throat habitually, adjusts his glasses, and drowns out his inner conflicts with the music blaring through his headphones. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s been doing that a lot, and is painfully aware that when it happens, it’s usually because of you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima argues that it’s because you’re just </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> pesky—</span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> loud in terms of volume and personality and style and habits, but there’s a distance pressure in his lungs that argue otherwise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He occupies himself with volleyball to run from these things. He never thought much about using the sport as a safe haven, but desperate times call for desperate measures, with “desperate” equaling coming to practice ten minutes late, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> when you leave the gym, and ignoring the look of concern that Yamaguchi and his upperclassmen send him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a worthwhile tactic until you make the executive decision to walk to the konbini with all the first years. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A terrible decision, really,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tsukishima thinks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sky is a mix of colors by the time he and his teammates leave the gym, spreading like a pastel oil slick over the landscape of Miyagi. The silhouette of a sprinting girl appears, contrasting boldly against the airy hues and bringing with her a laugh that sounds like a bow being dragged against untuned cello strings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima flinches. Hinata’s— </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shouyo’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> face brightens with a grin. Tsukishima grimaces. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey—! Shouyo, Tadashi, Tobio, Tsukishima, Hitoka—you guys are all here! That’s great!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thinks your repetition of everyone’s name is redundant, but his mind can’t help but cling onto how strange his family name sounds against everyone else’s given names. He thinks “Kei” would be much easier to say, and sound more like tuned strings on your voice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tsu-ki-shi-ma—</span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s four entire syllables, and are clumsy to fit into a sentence smoothly. It’s not like “To-bi-o” or “Shou-yo” or “Ta-da-shi” or “Hi-to-ka.” He’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tsu-ki-shi-ma</span>
  </em>
  <span> to you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kei</span>
  </em>
  <span> wonders if he’ll always just be Tsukishima for you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His bone marrow feels cold at that thought. He doesn’t want a label for this feeling, and forces himself to tune into whatever you and Shouyo are talking about. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I go with you guys? I wanted to pick up a few things anyway. I ran out of snacks at home.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first-years agree amiably, save for Tobio who nods wordlessly and, of course, Tsukishima, whose eyes find interest in the worn soles of his shoes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone else’s feet start moving. He follows suit, listening to Yamaguchi chatter until you fall back in step with them, coming loud with glittery eyes and warm cheeks and painted fingernails. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” You greet. Tsukishima doesn’t miss the prolonged glance you send to him when Yamaguchi’s the only one responding, but he maintains his facade as you speak. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’re you guys going to buy when we get there?” </span>
  <span></span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s a stupid question,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tsukishima thinks. A really stupid question, because who plans in detail what they’re going to get at a convenience store? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yamaguchi, complacent with your redundant question, responds with an enthusiastic list of things he could afford with what leftover cash he has on him. Tsukishima clenches his jaw, molars grinding roughly against each other and causing a dull pain to rise in his temples. He doesn’t particularly know why a rising feeling of anger is coming up his throat, but he thinks it has something to do with the ring of your laugh and the way you close your eyes when you smile at Yamaguchi. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The word “ethereal” returns to him, and he clears his throat as if it would do anything to clear the persistent descriptor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about you, Tsukishima?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’d be so much easier if you just called him Kei. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know.” Though the curt response isn’t inherently uncharacteristic of him, Yamaguchi quirks an eyebrow at the lack of instigation in the blonde’s tone. There’s no sarcasm, no bite, no hostile lilt of his voice that’s usually present when he talks to anyone (minus his upperclassmen––he at least has some sense of respect when it comes to them). </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You exhale deeply through your nose, and a swift glance at your expression lets Tsukishima know of your returning dejection at his monotone answers. You seem to find a new drive, though, spontaneously jerking back up and smiling at him with as much enthusiasm as you could muster. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“By the way, about the scarf––” He’s nauseous now. He hopes you can take the hint and stop talking about the scarf. He doesn’t want to think about how it's been folded neatly on your chair for the past week and how every time he looks at it he thinks of you and it’s getting on his nerves. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“––You have to handwash it. In a basin with cold or lukewarm water and detergent. If you put it in the washing machine, it’ll probably fall apart. And you have to let it lay out and dry by itself.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima thinks that if he tries opening his mouth and retorting some how, he’ll puke all over your lace-knit cardigan (which he thinks you knitted yourself judging by the awkwardly spaced stitches along the sleeves and the way the cuffs lay unevenly on your wrists) and he’d rather not face that public humiliation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He settles for a curt nod and a flit of his eyes towards his laces, once again, and he tries to ignore how your eyes seem to trail on the way his hands grip his backpack strap just a little bit tighter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You turn to Yamaguchi, give a light smile and a nod, and speed up your steps to fall in line with Kageyama, Hinata, and Yachi again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yamaguchi’s eyes linger on his best friend, which Tsukishima pointedly ignores. A heavy sigh escapes the shorter boy's lips as he gives off an exhausted smile and a shake of his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Tsukishima.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gotcha.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima is embarrassed. Humiliated, even. He didn’t even need to puke on your cardigan to feel this way. You just needed to exist, and he needed to keep being his stupid, apathetic, sarcastic self and hurt your feelings in order to make his stomach swirl and lungs tighten. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima Kei is in deep. He knows that. He doesn’t want to say it out loud for everyone to hear, but by the knowing look that Yamaguchi keeps sending him, he’s been obvious enough about it to get someone as close as him to notice. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IMM SO SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG TO GET THIS OUT SGHSILKDGLHSOD and this is alarmingly short im so sorry :((( but i hope you guys like it !!! only a few more chapters and it'll be done!! <br/>also thank you for all the sweet comments on here :))) i haven't responded to all of them but you are all so nice and make my heart so warm thank you for supporting me !! &lt;3&lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tsukishima thinks that the repetition of his surname ringing in his ears is making him go crazy. Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>crazy</span>
  </em>
  <span> is the wrong term. He hasn’t lost his senses yet—he thinks that despite being faced with the daunting wall that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>attraction,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s faring rather well in his day-to-day life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You, however, don’t seem to be doing well.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he’d voiced his concerns to anyone else, he would’ve gotten looks that </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> solidify the whole “crazy” narrative. You’re perfectly fine on the surface. You’re laughing, giving away more friendship bracelets that line the wrists of his teammates in a steady row and dropping off big white pastry boxes full of cookies and danishes. (“Homemade puff pastry!” He remembers you calling out proudly. “Took me a while to get the hang of it but I don’t think I did too bad!”)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Tsukishima Kei knows what facades look like. He knows what it’s like to cover up countless feelings and thoughts and words with a blank face and a sarcastic tone. He imagines that using the opposite tactic (one of bright smiles and airy laughs) is somewhat similar. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hates to think that he’s the cause of the lack of a crinkle in the corners of your eyes and the scratchy, aching noise of your cello-string-laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Tsukishima just does not often know what to say. How to say it. How to categorize the things he feels and send them into funnels where </span>
  <em>
    <span>the right words</span>
  </em>
  <span> slip out the other end. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thinks he’s gotten the first step down pat—he knows he’s attracted to you— (that word is terrible. He pauses and rethinks the terms he can use.) He knows he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fond</span>
  </em>
  <span> of you. Very fond, actually. It’s great that there’s a word for this in his head now. The big issue here, though, is that one word out of five-hundred-thousand is not going to help him figure out how to talk to you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Tsukishima Kei bites. Not like a dog, but like a mosquito. Dogs really only bite when they’re provoked. In truth, he hasn’t been provoked by you—not at all. It’s like he only exists to bite people with no reason and with nothing to provide to society, only leaving pesky, itchy bumps on people’s skin that linger for an annoying amount of time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought is sad. But he thinks it’s accurate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He starts off small, like dipping his toes into the water of </span>
  <em>
    <span>despondency</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His sarcastic remarks sound to start less like sarcasm and more like disdain. It graduates slowly into small insults, ones that sort of slip under the guise of his personality, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> that you don’t take it that way. He knows by the way your responses turn into tight-lipped smiles and silent nods. He knows by the way you shift your gaze and furrow your eyebrows and chew the inside of your cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he knows. He wants to forget about your habits and your voice and your smile and the orchestra of your laughter. The point of this is to forget, he thinks to himself, so why is he still clouded with the faint images of you skipping your feet against the concrete with Shouyo and focusing on the threads between your fingers during lunch as you weave yet another friendship bracelet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watches you do the latter, chopsticks tapping absentmindedly into the content of his bento as he watches you intently. You’re tying off the ends, cutting a shorter thread to make a sliding knot closure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The infatuated part of him wonders if you’ll stand up from your table, walk over to his, and hand it to him, slip it around his wrist with glimmering eyes and raised eyebrows and a soft smile. But he’s hoping too much, he realizes as you hand it to Shouyo with a laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yamaguchi takes a seat next to the blonde. Tsukishima is aware of his presence but doesn't make a move to glance at him. Yamaguchi sighs. He knows what this is about, and he could say a lot of things to Tsukishima, but thinks his words would be redundant and a simple repetition of Tsukishima’s inner monologue. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Tsukishima can handle this, he thinks. It’ll take some time, but he’ll get it eventually.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You’re reciprocating the distance, the blonde thinks. You’re finally taking his cold remarks personally and pushing yourself away. Tsukishima knows that’s what he intended but the tightening of his lungs and the way his fingers tap rapidly against his desk makes his subconscious reconsider what he’s doing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Yamaguchi sighs again. He can’t help it—he thinks the dazed look on his friend’s face is so comically out of character, and he pushes aside his momentary pity to let out a quiet chuckle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s not just </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>friend.” He tells Tsukishima. There’s silence at the table for a moment. Tsukishima’s mind whites out for a minute as he tries to understand what Yamaguchi is telling him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hums in response, acting despondent and oblivious. The twitch of his eyebrow gives him away, though. He knows what to do and how to do it, finally—he knows that if he takes enough time to think about it he can finally find the right words to tell you. It’s not the ideal situation to do so, but he guesses he’ll take the chance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(He’s strong in his regard until he shows up to school the next day, where a bottle of cold tea and a homemade pastry sits on top of his desk. It’s undeniably you. He feels his eyes start stinging.)</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is a bit late but i still got it out in a decent time!! next chapter will be the last :) <br/>thank you all for the support you've given me on this series. it means so so so much to me and i know it's been.... a completely MESS to say the least LMFOAOO but thank you for sticking around &lt;3<br/>hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tsukishima wishes you’d get angry at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the one moment in his life where he prefers noise over silence. It’s unfortunate that he won’t get the former and is instead stuck with the ironically deafening presence of the latter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You’re quiet. So, so quiet. He’s recognized this change before but as days pass it gets harder for him to handle. He misses your eyes. He wants to see the way the ring around your iris changes color with the angle of the sunlight. He wants to hear the charm of your backpack jingle with every bouncy step you take. He wants to see the open gaps left in your messily-knit cardigan—and at moments when he drowns deeper in his head, he realizes he wants his hands to slip under the fabric of that cardigan and wrap around your shoulders and pull your form tightly to his. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima Kei is a greedy man. But only for you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He suppresses a gag at the cheesy thought as he sits in his Modern Literature class. Yamaguchi sits at the seat next to him, sneaking discreet glances that aren’t so discreet. He knows that his friend is aching to interrogate him, just like he’s tried every day for a week so far. (Tsukishima winces at the thought that it’s been a week since you left the tea and pastry on his desk.) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Speaking of tea and pastries. You don’t seem to be letting up with the gifts. It only makes his chest hurt more, the fact that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>can’t use words anymore when you used to be so good at filling up empty space with random chatter. Now you’re reduced to leaving treats semi-anonymously on his desk, things you haven’t made for him before and only now, at one of Tsukishima’s many low points in life, you’re deciding to flood him with these items as some odd form of reconciliation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(He calls it reconciliation to make the weight on his shoulders feel a little bit lighter. He understands, reluctantly, that it’s his responsibility to try his hand at this whole “making up” thing.) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anyways. Modern Literature. His brain keeps getting sidetracked and it proves to be detrimental as the teacher dismisses the class for lunch and he realizes that less than half of the worksheet he’s been assigned is finished. He’s gotten as far as writing his name down, and doing the first two questions. The date isn’t filled out and neither is the class period. Tsukishima sighs, and stands up to hand in his paper, ignoring the way the teacher scans through it and gives him a hesitant look at the uncharacteristic work (or lack thereof). </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yamaguchi watches the wordless interaction from the doorway, initially waiting to walk to the cafeteria with Tsukishima but deciding against it as his blonde friend gives him a look that tells him to go ahead. He sighs. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He should really get things together,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Yamaguchi thinks. Tsukki’s never really been one to slack off during school like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Yamaguchi leaves for lunch, Tsukishima sits through his teacher’s mundane spiel about keeping up with the work in class. He feels irritated and all the events that have happened in the last two weeks push at his head to try and convince him to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>let all of this out,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he restrains himself. He’s already caught up with you—no help will come from finding himself in trouble with a teacher. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At one point, the teacher notices his distant look and gives off a sigh of disappointment. She shakes her head and stands from her chair. “I hope this is just an off day, Tsukishima. I expect you to be back to normal soon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima, for once in his life, has trouble pushing down the simmering anger that rises slowly to the tips of his fingers. He wants to yell, wants to hit the desk and shout and cry and fall to his knees and go to sleep all at once. He just wants to let go. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t, obviously. Internally conflicted as he is, he’d like to maintain some sort of composure in front of his middle-aged teacher. He wonders, though, if maybe this is how you’ve been feeling over the last few weeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the teacher walks out of the room, no more biting words left to give Tsukishima, he stands still at the front of the classroom, pulling at his fingers for a few moments as he gives himself time to calm down. There’s a lot going on in his head. He’s not sure which problem to address first. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stepping back to his desk, he takes out his wrapped bento and makes a move to leave the classroom. He hears footsteps, though, and as the figure becomes clear at the entryway he wonders if even thinking about you was a total mistake. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You’re there. In the doorway of the classroom. There’s a box in your hand, one of the white ones that you always use to pack dozens of pastries in, but this one’s smaller, more personal. On top of it, there’s a friendship bracelet—navy, blue, and white, all threaded in a chevron pattern. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes flit up to meet yours. He hates the expression in your face. You look scared. Tsukishima dreads the fact that his mere presence could make you look </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Your lips are parted, but no words come out—it doesn’t seem like you really intend to say anything in the first place. Tsukishima </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> intend to say something. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say something, </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he should, that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to. But Tsukishima Kei does not know all five-hundred-thousand words in the Japanese language, and he thinks that even if he did, he still wouldn’t know what to say to you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not now. Not here when you’re standing in the classroom doorway with gifts in your hands that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> you planned on giving him, just like every other day in the last week, looking up at him like you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrified</span>
  </em>
  <span> to even interact with the likes of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima’s mind comes back to the present. Your mouth is closed, now, and you sniffle a bit in habit before making a complete turn in the doorway and scurrying out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Your footsteps are rapid, quickly getting quiet as you make your way down the hall. Away from him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wants to cry. He hates crying—doesn’t remember the last time he’s done it, and doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to remember what it feels like. But it seems like every passing day gives him yet another reason to finally feel the tears and snot streaking down his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima Kei does not eat lunch that day.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>GUYS!!! I DID IT I FINISHED IT OKAY HERE'S THE FINAL PART &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Just like that, Tsukishima is back to square one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The world goes silent for a few days. He hates to admit that he’s losing sleep over you, but at this point he’s too far gone to care what anyone thinks about him. Except for you--and while he knows that assuming things is bad, he can only conclude by the way you looked so </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him before, that you do not think he’s a good person. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(The gifts you gave him nearly contradict that assumption. But he ignores those for the most part. The scarf you gave him a while ago rests on a chair in his room and more often than not he finds himself staring at it during the deep hours of the night. He hasn’t worn it yet.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yamaguchi keeps giving him glances during class--not that that’s any different from before, but it irks him more now that he’s actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span> you. The blonde wonders if his friend knew about you, knew that you were going to drop something off in that moment and just never thought to warn him. Maybe you two were plotting that together, like an odd sort of revenge tactic. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know a lot of things. What he does know is that he’s tired, and he misses you, and he wants to be warm again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The morning is cold when we wakes up. He wasn’t really sleeping--it was one of those nights of a daze of exhaustion where he kept blinking himself awake. At five-thirty AM, he sighs, staring at the blank, matte wall of his ceiling. Tsukishima wills himself to crawl out of his bed and get ready for school. It’s still dark outside, the flames of daylight creeping up on the horizon while he steps around his room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s ready to leave by six. His mother is awake, sitting in the kitchen sipping hot tea and scrolling through her cellphone. She catches a glimpse of her son walking through the front door--Tsukishima feels her pensive gaze on him but refuses to say anything, just like always. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The air is cold. Despite the long-sleeved uniform he’s wearing, Tsukishima feels ill-prepared to face the day, in more than one way. Nevertheless, he lets go of his reluctance at the door and trudges onward in the frigid air, nose flushed with red and cheeks going numb in a matter of seconds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(The scarf is in his bag now rather than his desk chair, hidden beneath his books and folders and pencils. He wants to wear it, knows he should, but his guilty conscious tells him to leave it unworn for now.) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The walk passes by quickly, far too quickly for his comfort. Before Tsukishima knows it, he’s faced with the front doors of the very school he dreads to enter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His fingers tingle with numbness as he pulls at the metal handles of the door. The school is quiet, empty for the most part. The faint shuffle of teachers in their classrooms echoes throughout the halls as his feet lead him to Class 1-4. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a faint pitter-patter of footsteps from inside the classroom. Tsukishima passes it off as one of his teachers, again, but the sight he’s met with when he walks through the doorway gives him a disturbing sense of deja vu. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You’re there, at his desk--the same bracelet from a few days ago resting on top of a box that  you seem to have just placed on his desk. You blink up at him owlishly. He can only return the gesture, dumbstruck as he is. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s too reminiscent of the events from a few days ago. Once again, his eyes are prickling with stinging pain and his throat dries up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What does he know, he wonders. He knows he hates crying. It’s unfortunate that that’s the only thing he seems capable of doing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s all overwhelming for him. The cold of the outside lingering on his skin, the sheets of sunlight pouring through the window as the sun rises, your eyes, your sheer presence in front of him. It piles on his shoulder and soon he feels liquid heat pouring down his cheeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tsukishima Kei is crying. In front of you, in a classroom, watching you grip the box in your hands and stare at him, unmoving. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His throat hurts. He tries to choke down any audible sobs, but loud, ugly sniffles echo throughout the room. He wants to fall through the floor, squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to look at you. He can’t bear to know that you find him pathetic, even more so than he already seemed in the last few weeks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Distantly, he recognizes the sound of footsteps coming closer to him but tunes them out in hopes that he’s just imagining them. A hand finds its way to his shoulder--it’s warm, and he flinches. He knows it’s yours, knows by the heat of it and the comfort he feels from a simple touch. It’s the first time he’s felt your touch, but he feels so light now--so warm and comfortable and cloudy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kei.” It’s your voice. It swims through the air and into his ears, sobs only increasing in severity at the sound of his first name on your lips. Your other hand comes to rest on his cheek, both sets of fingers gently brushing away the pouring stream. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fond. Tsukishima Kei is very fond of the feeling of your skin on his. He hopes he can become well-acquainted with it, if he tries hard enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kei, it’s okay.” You’re so soft, voice low and lacking any hostility he expected you to have. Your thumbs pat at his under eyes, soaking up the wetness that pools. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you look at me?” He’s stubborn, hand coming up to grip your wrist and lips clamped tightly shut to reduce the shiver of his entire body as he weeps. A gentle shake of his head makes you sigh--he knows the way he’s acting is so uncharacteristic but he can’t help it. Not with the feel of your hands on his face, your voice, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>sound</span>
  </em>
  <span> of his first name spoken by you still ringing in his ears. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. It’s alright. I’m here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> here. It seems impossible to him, but you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>here.</span>
  </em>
  <span> With him. With your hands giving him warmth and comfort and fondness. Everything he ever wanted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes blink open. Tsukishima Kei looks at you--</span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> looks. Your lips are upturned, gentle as is the rest of you. The sun is halfway above the horizon now, the light from it filtering through the leaves of the trees that are planted outside the window. The golden rays hit your eyes perfectly, changing the hue the slightest bit and making him stop his tears momentarily--just to admire you. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You blink at him. You smile. Tsukishima Kei falls in love, just a little bit.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>im literally copying and pasting most of these notes from tumblr KSXGHSLDHH im sorry im just so,,,,,exhausted shglkhsdgdkl BUT:</p><p>so... this has been a wild ride. </p><p>first off i wanna say thank you for all the support i’ve received throughout this whole thing! it really means so much to me. i love you all so much. </p><p>im very proud of myself for finishing this. this is by no means the greatest product i could’ve created--it was a little bit messy, and the word count of the entire series (ab 6000 i think) is lower than some long oneshots i’ve seen.</p><p>there’s a lot of things i could’ve done better--no doubt about that. but i am very proud of myself for making this. for finishing a WHOLE multipart series,,,,yes it was short but......its here! i did it! i’m finished! very happy with this. </p><p>this series was mainly set in tsukishima’s own head--and i know it was probably at least a little disappointing that it was NOT action-based---and the fact that it was tsukki-centric was definitely a downer to some people because you didnt really get to feel what.... YOU would feel in that situation. we didnt get to see that here. </p><p>and its okay if that’s what you disliked most!!! in truth i think that was one of my biggest weaknesses writing this series. but i liked it this way, i think. i like trying to analyze characters within my writing and i think that, at the very least, this was a good challenge for me to try to take on with characterization and the like.</p><p>anyways....that’s it i think! thank you so much for supporting me, really. all the kudos and bookmarks and comments,,,,ghslghsdlk you're all so sweet ily guys &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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